The atmosphere on set is great.
This is because the ratings for the second episode followed the first and ended up being quite respectable.
Ratings rose slightly from the first episode to reach 12.1%.
Still, ratings for the two other shows also increased slightly.
KTD: 11.4%
Mother’s Song: 9.3%
The fact is, KTD saw more of an increase than we did, so we’re in a precarious situation.
But on set, people aren’t thinking that way because no one expected our drama to even surpass KTD’s ratings.
Some staff members predicted that after the initial hype, our show would tank from the second episode.
Despite this, having achieved higher viewership in the second episode compared to the first has everyone in good spirits.
As mentioned several times, when it comes to drama, as long as ratings are high, nothing else matters.
Consequently, while everyone else is enjoying themselves here, only I remain anxious.
With melodramas, there’s no telling when the ratings will suddenly nosedive, and our ratings were so neck and neck.
While everyone was laughing and having a good time, I alone was under stress.
It was quite an unreasonable situation.
“Now I think I understand something.”
“…Do you?”
“The melodramas I’ve written so far weren’t really melodramas.”
“…Yes.”
It seemed that Writer Ok had some sort of enlightenment but was still slightly uneasy. However, they were riding the wave now, so it was best to leave them be.
After all, this drama had become one that couldn’t survive without over-the-top melodrama. More than anything else, what was truly important here were the actors’ powerful performances that allowed them to stay composed even in such an exaggerated storyline—just like Tae-kyu, who triumphantly handled cheese-drenched scenes.
“Wow. My acting… it’s being recognized!”
After being acknowledged for his acting in the first and second episodes, Tae-kyu was excitedly checking through the audience’s comments on his role, though he’d already read them many times at home. There’s always a special thrill in browsing them on set.
This was a moment when one could clearly see his dedication to acting once again.
“Ah, Siwoo, can we take a photo together?”
“…A photo?”
“Yes, I want to post a thank-you message on SNS, and I think it would be even better if we took one with you.”
“…Alright, if you say so.”
Beaming with excitement, Tae-kyu came over and asked me to take a photo to share on his social media. After snapping a picture with him, I posted it on his behalf.
Regardless of the outcome, since we’re all in the same boat now, maintaining friendly appearances would benefit the success of the drama too. I might even use it to my advantage; it wasn’t like I was averse to exposing a little more skin for some potential gain.
“By the way, didn’t you say that seniors Heavenly Yuah and Luna were coming today?”
“Yes, for the cameo roles.”
“Good heavens…”
“What’s that look on your face for?”
“It never occurred to me that I’d get a chance to perform on the same screen as Heavenly Yuah.”
“…Is that so?”
True to form, Tae-kyu, dedicated as ever to acting, seemed to harbor great respect for Heavenly Yuah.
Well, it made sense. After all, she was undoubtedly a dream for aspiring actors.
However, just thinking of Tae-kyu’s attempt to share a scene with Heavenly Yuah today made me feel sorry for her. It seemed that Tae-kyu might lack a grasp on the situation, too.
Or was it that Writer Ok had lost sight of reality? The situation was truly perplexing.
“Hello.”
The first to arrive on set was Moon Suyeon. Both were planning to visit after wrapping up their own shoot schedules, and it turned out that Moon Suyeon finished filming earlier.
Moon Suyeon’s role in our drama was as a secret evaluator for Michelin.
Since Kang Min’s ultimate goal was to achieve three Michelin stars, a Michelin-related plot had become necessary, and Moon Suyeon was the one who picked this part up.
“…Senior Luna.”
“Why are you reacting like this?”
“Uh, well, I just always found Senior Luna to be intimidating.”
“Intimidating?”
“Ah! Sorry, I’m not sure if she knows this, but she’s kind of famous for being scary… Senior Luna.”
Moon Suyeon’s arrival made Tae-kyu’s face turn pale.
Curious about what happened, I asked, and it turned out that Moon Suyeon was known as a fearsome senior in the music industry.
Specifically, not someone who enforced strict discipline, but simply someone whom people naturally avoided out of fear, like Senior Luna and Eshtblm’s Yeri.
One of the two most feared people in the music industry happened to be Moon Suyeon.
“But doesn’t Senior Suyeon seem like the opposite?”
Well, thinking of Moon Suyeon, who’s constantly being scammed or made to look like a fool, I didn’t see the connection, so I challenged the notion. It seems like we had differing standards of judgment.
Apparently, the music industry had its own ways of doling out worse punishments than physical beatings.
“In fact, it’s true. Senior Luna is, well… someone who simply annihilates on the stage.”
“Annihilates on the stage?”
“Yes, so…”
They said that Luna, after being active as a dance idol for four years, once participated in a concert-style event.
Supposedly, her next act was a junior girl group that was a year her junior. This group seemed to have treated Luna with a bit of indifference.
Not outright, but in a way that could irk anyone deeply if on the receiving end.
On this occasion, the junior did not utter a single counter-response, however, upon taking the stage, she completely botched her performance.
This was remembered as a legendary moment in music industry circles, referred to as “The Beginning of Luna’s Legend.”
The junior act that followed only suffered humiliation, with no audience engagement.
Subsequently, every musician who crossed paths with Luna would inevitably surrender their spot before hers, always sustaining unseen injuries.
“…Does that work? I don’t quite understand.”
“It’s something you only understand if you’ve actually been on stage. You can really feel when the mood’s been ruined, it’s incredibly humiliating.”
“Ah…”
“You wouldn’t understand unless you experienced it firsthand. There’s a qualitative difference between merely watching and feeling it on stage. Senior Luna… let’s just say she exudes such a dominating presence she’s at the top of the food chain in the music industry.”
“Hm…”
“Senior Luna’s concerts are expensive, yet fans go crazy trying to get tickets, for good reason.”
There was something curious here, I think, as Tae-kyu scanned the surroundings and whispered in my ear.
“So they say Senior Luna’s other nickname is ‘Confession Machine.'”
“…What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Apparently, people were so mesmerized by Senior Luna’s performance that hundreds confessed their love. One group called XXXX—there are seven members, yet five reportedly confessed to Senior Luna. Of course, they all got rejected harshly, and their next stage was absolute disaster.”
This was indeed their exclusive little world.
A group with seven members having five confess to the same woman.
Whatever the circumstances, it clearly showed Moon Suyeon’s performances were nothing short of captivating.
Though it’s bizarre that if she didn’t like someone, she’d wreck their performance on her predecessor’s stage.
-Hmm, not bad overall. But this sauce? It’s quite extraordinary; even with just this sauce, the dish deserves at least one star.
-But…
Moon Suyeon’s cameo scene did not overlap with mine.
It was as simple as her enjoying a light meal at Kang Min’s restaurant, assessing it, and leaving. Her sultry yet refined charisma was perfectly expressed in her fitting outfit, making it a visually pleasing scene.
Kim PD gave an approving nod with a satisfied expression.
Still, Moon Suyeon herself didn’t seem fully content with the scene, as evidenced by her stiff expression and the way she kept glaring at Yoon Yeonhee at every opportunity.
Probably still reeling from the shock of the kissing scene, even though she needs to understand that such things are inevitable if she wants to continue as an actress.
Despite her appearance suggesting someone who’s chewed up and spit out dozens of men, she’s oddly naïve in this aspect.
But then again, that could be questionable considering she carries around some sort of amorous plant. She’s a fascinating woman, without a doubt.
“Siwoo, haven’t you forgotten about our drama?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, of course.”
“Alright then, I’ll see you then. Don’t forget about the special year-end stage.”
“Of course. You’ve worked hard today, too. Please be careful going home.”
Moon Suyeon gave me a final glare aimed at Yoon Yeonhee before quietly leaving, reminding me not to forget her cameo in her own drama.
A cameo. Pretty cliché, really.
Judging from the vibe, her role is quite possibly the part of the dead father of Senior Mi-ju?
Still, judging from the script’s tone, there won’t be anything like kissing, so I wasn’t particularly worried.
And the special year-end stage she mentioned at the end…
“This is something we can just handle as usual; no need to stress about it.”
Not long after Moon Suyeon left, the set buzzed again.
Heavenly Yuah had just arrived and was making her way over. She looked visibly displeased.
“Wow, what’s going on…”
And someone else was feeling particularly tense as well.
None other than our drama’s lead, Yoon Yeonhee.
Yoon Yeonhee, who takes bringing down Heavenly Yuah very seriously, had been on full combat mode since learning of today’s cameo shoot.
Starting with her more elaborate grooming than usual, these were clear signs of her determination not to be overshadowed by Heavenly Yuah.
There really are so many people who take such trivial matters very seriously in this world.
“…”
“…”
Entering the set, Heavenly Yuah greeted the PDs and staff politely as usual and exchanged pleasantries with the other actors.
That’s Heavenly Yuah, who’d once taken the trouble to find me on another set just to offer her polite greetings.
But there was an exception to her politeness—in the case of Yoon Yeonhee.
Yoon Yeonhee and Heavenly Yuah were glaring at each other, engaging in a fierce staring contest without exchanging a single word.
“…That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?”
“Ah, well, usually Senior Heavenly Yuah just pretends not to notice Yoon Yeonhee, but why today…”
“…Is that so?”
Seeing Lee Hyerin’s puzzled expression made me think that Heavenly Yuah was perhaps still shaken from the kissing scene.
It’s strange that these women react so much over a kissing scene. At this point, it almost seemed like shooting a few kissing scenes would simplify things.
“Alright. Let’s begin.”
There were a few hiccups, but the shoot proceeded as planned.
This scene was Heavenly Yuah’s cameo.
It was the exact scene that made me feel sorry for her after reading the script.
The reason being…
-Juon can’t stall for much longer. The essence is dangerous.
-I know. But I need more time.
Her character played an alien visiting CheezPia to meet Juon.
Good heavens. To think they brought Heavenly Yuah in for this kind of act?
What on earth kind of devotion does Writer Ok have towards “CheezPia”?
Still, this was undeniably the ever-reliable Heavenly Yuah, who gave a flawless performance even as an alien.
What’s more amusing is that even Tae-kyu, who was originally a specialist in playing aliens, robots, or artificial intelligences, held his own against her without faltering.
Once this scene airs, it’s certain that the drama community will explode in some capacity.
—
